Death by heart attack—just another day at the office. Death by electrocution—not so bad. Death by car, head sliced neatly open with brain matter galore—beyond all concepts of nasty.
I discovered my nifty talent when I was just a kid. I’d started seeing deceased neighborhood pets, followed by Mrs. Beaterman mulling over her neatly manicured lawn a week after the heart attack that killed her. I thought it was normal.
That all changed the day a drunk driver blew past a stop sign and plowed into my parents’ van. When Mom and Dad paid a visit to their own funeral, I knew I had issues.
“Bartender!” Lonnie yelled, his gaze remaining on the stage.
I bit my tongue—literally. The sharp edge of my incisor hurt, which was the point. I had to hold it in or I was going to blow.
“What can I get for you, Lonnie?”
“Will Deena be back next weekend?”
Count to ten. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine and ten. Got your shit together? Okay, good. Answer the gentleman.
“I don’t know, Lonnie.” I smiled, speaking through my teeth. “She’s on vacation. An extended vacation.”
“Yo, Rhiannon!” Cletus called out and stepped up from the lower floor, coming right at me. His smooth muscles bulged under the lights, bringing attention to his warm, chocolate-colored skin. His bald head gleamed as he neared. New York’s most intimidating bouncer and I shared a happy working relationship, and the rules that governed that relationship were simple. No lies, no ass kissing, no bullshit. It worked better than most marriages.
“Yo, Cletus,” I responded, walking in his direction.
Everyone made way for him, backing off. No one wants to be in the path of a six-foot-four Mack truck with guns the size of two-by-fours. He stopped at the bar and asked, “You headed to the gym after this?”
I glanced at Disco, who was undoubtedly listening. “Probably. I missed my set last night. Why do you ask?”
He produced a set of keys. Nothing fancy, just a plain ring surrounded by various scraps of metal that held the power to unlock doors. “Give that to Mike. He’s on tonight.”
“No problem.” I took them and pushed the jangling chain into my skirt pocket. I had to pay my dues anyway, and since Mike owned the joint, it was a win-win.
Cletus returned to the floor and the night picked up. I was thankful for the distraction. I filled drink after drink, order after order, and I loved it. I didn’t want to be in this place any longer than I had to, and Friday and Saturday were the busiest nights of the week. A fast pace made time go by faster.
I was filling a shot of Absolut—focused entirely on work—when I heard Erica snarl, “You fucking skank!”
My chin snapped and I turned toward the sound of a bitch fight in progress. Erica and Lacey were engaged in a heated discussion at the opposite end of the bar. They pointed at each other and exchanged insults. I topped the shot of vodka and plopped the bottle under the counter when Lacey started pulling off her three-inch, red patent leather, fish high heels.
I ran to the lift and tossed the heavy wood aside, shouting, “Cletus!”
Someone yelled as his fingers got smashed beneath the lift, but I didn’t have time to apologize, and I didn’t have time to be courteous. Lacey was barefoot and ready for battle. The clock was ticking.
Oh shit.